


A Quiet Affair

by theseamofthesky



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-08
Updated: 2014-09-08
Packaged: 2018-02-16 16:52:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,527
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2277414
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theseamofthesky/pseuds/theseamofthesky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With Jack and Katherine’s wedding approaching, David seeks out Darcy for dancing lessons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Quiet Affair

At the age of twenty four, David Jacobs was finally financially independent, forging a career as a reporter, and beginning to realise that he was lonely.

Although he could never resent neither Kathering nor Jack for their blossoming relationship, he couldn’t deny that it limited the time that he could comfortably spend with them. It was hard to engage either of them in a discussion of the shirtwaist strike when their eyes were dreamy and unfocused.

As the day of their wedding drew ever nearer, meetings with the pair of them became more and more difficult. He still saw them regularly, discussing Jack’s latest project with the artist, or swapping stories from the newsdesk with Katherine, but the two were clearly distracted.

As for the other former newsies, the paths had scattered them all around the city. They were as hard to pin down as their elusive headlines had been.

This was probably the main factor in his acceptance of Darcy Reid’s invitations to various low-key social gatherings.

The well-spoken young man had always gotten on well with David, but only recently had he begun to take a particular interest in spending time with him. At first he had been puzzled by the far wealthier man’s interest in him, then he had remembered that what he had shared with Jack, Darcy had probably shared with Katherine.

He did briefly wonder if Darcy’s fondness for Katherine had ever wandered into the same dangerous, painful territory as his feelings for Jack had.

He quickly discarded these thoughts, they did him no good, especially considering how hard he had worked after the strike to erase them. On the whole, he considered himself to have done a good job. Sometimes, when Jack smiled that wide-eyed smile, full of anticipation, his heart still gave a slight twinge, but it was the pain from an old bruise: fading, and unlikely to be touched again.

Besides, Katherine had become his friend every bit as much as Jack. How could he resent the girl who got them on the front page?

Not only that, she had made sure that he kept in touch with Darcy. He had felt a slight prickle of resentment, had felt that he was being mothered because he couldn’t make friends by himself.

However, he wasn’t sure that he would have had the confidence to accept the invitations of a newspaper magnate’s son without her steady prompting.

When he had first visited Darcy at his home, aged nineteen and mildly terrified, he had quickly realised that he had nothing to fear.

Although Darcy’s wealth may have been intimidating, the man himself certainly was not. He was pleasant, well-mannered and, to David’s delight, just as much a bookworm as the former newsie.

Darcy was perfectly happy to be used as a personal lending library, so long as when David had finished one of his recommendations, they were able to discuss the book over coffee and occasionally cake in the parlour that had once been his mother’s room.

At first, David had been reluctant to disagree with the man who was generous enough to lend so many books to a boy he barely knew, and feed him into the bargain. However, it wasn’t long before his naturally argumentative nature made itself known. The servants of the Reid household quickly became accustomed to lively discussions of the symbolism in ‘The Heart of Darkness’ or the translation of ‘Tristan’ between the young master and his new friend.

The rarified air of the Reid’s large house was certainly a marked contrast to the chill breezes and rank summer stillness he encountered with the newsies. He had feared he would find it stifling, but Darcy had proved charming enough to smooth over any awkwardness that arose.

When Darcy had moved into his own apartment, the only thing that changed in their meetings was the quality of the coffee (Darcy, though skilled with a printing press, was terrible with coffee beans).

Now, David was using his hospitality once more. The last time he had seen Katherine, she had been deeply engrossed in organising the music for the wedding.

“It’s pretty, but is it really suitable for a waltz,” she had muttered under her breath.

At this David had looked up from his notepad, startled. “There’s going to be dancing?”

Katherine emerged from her mountain of notes with an absent-minded smile. “Of course there’s going to be dancing! And proper dancing too. Not like the kind we saw that one time in that bar in Brooklyn.”

David shared her grimace. It had not been anyone’s finest hour.

Their meeting had left him in a state of mild panic. The Jacobs, whilst sociable and hospitable, had never really gone in for dancing. At the few bar mitzvahs he had attended, he had managed to occupy a near-constant spot near where the food was served, avoiding the whirling bodies as if he feared decapitation by a stray arm.

So now he had to learn. Jack wouldn’t give two hoots if he danced or not, but when the father of the bride was your employer, David felt that it was astute to make a good impression.

Jack didn’t have a clue. The newsies had even less of a clue. Katherine would have loved to teach him, but he felt that he couldn’t ask her when she was swamped with work and wedding business. She had a small army of female acquaintance that she assured him would be equally happy to school him in the basics, but David didn’t feel all too keen on making a fool of himself of a strange young socialite.

Which just left Darcy.

That morning, David had given a boy a quarter to take a note to Darcy’s apartment, asking if he was available for an impromptu dancing lesson. The boy had returned with a scrap of paper, on which ‘Yes, of course’ had been scrawled in what seemed like great haste.

Consequently, David was knocking at Darcy’s door as the shadows lengthened in the street below, stomach awash with a strange anticipation.

The door was promptly opened, revealing a trim, smiling young man with glasses and neatly parted dark hair, wearing a green waistcoat under a tweed jacket.

Ever since David had built up the confidence to treat Darcy like the newsies treated each other, he had teased him for never straying too far from that one outfit. That said, his complaints were never genuine. The cut of his shirts and jackets made the man look effortlessly smart, a world away from the cobbled-together ensembles of the newsies.

The downside was of course that David often felt scruffy by comparison. Even now, wearing one of his best shirts (he had counted on Darcy saying yes when dressing this morning), he felt the compulsion to smooth down imagined creases.

“David! It’s good to see you,” Darcy said with an easy smile. He held out a hand for David to shake, then used this hand to lead him into his well lit apartment, his other hand coming to rest on his shoulder.

In the days after the strike, Jack had often mocked the sons of the newspaper giants’ for their stuffy manners. David had laughed along but privately reflected on how Darcy seemed to have no more (if not fewer) problems with personal space than the newsies.

He supposed that Jack must have simply not wanted to notice.

“Your note led me to understand that it’s the horrors of dancing that have brought you to my door, terrified and alone?”

David laughed. “That sounds about right. Do you have time to guide me through this nightmare?”

Darcy pretended to scold him. “David Jacobs, you are twenty four years old. You are far too mature to pretend to hate dancing. And I’ve said before, I always have time for you. Just...let me get a drink, I’ve a terrible headache.”

As the shorter man disappeared into the kitchen, David called after him, “Long day?”

A long pause followed before Darcy reappeared with a glass of water. He sipped at it, grimacing, and replied, “I had an...altercation with my father.”

David gestured at the two armchairs, more than happy to talk instead of dance.

Darcy responded with a shake of his head and an attempt at a smile. “I only mention it because it concerned this wedding. My father wanted to know if a young lady would be accompanying me. When I said no, he made reference to a certain...malicious rumour that has apparently been circling in the office.”

David frowned and crossed to squeeze Darcy’s shoulder in sympathy. Pulitzer had competition not only in the world of newspapers, but in that of poor fatherhood. “What rumour?”

“A nasty, spiteful rumour that has no truth to it.” He tried to take refuge in old arrogance. “If I hear anyone so much as whisper it when I own the Tribune, they’ll be fired immediately.”

He caught sight of David’s warm, encouraging smile and let his resolve crumble slightly. He removed his wire-framed glasses, folded them with exaggerated care and placed them in his pocket. “There is apparently a rumour that I...prefer the company of men. Only those circulating the rumour weren’t so polite about it.” He clasped his hands together and twisted his fingers in front of him.

David started slightly. He himself was no strangers to such rumours. Well, he wasn’t exactly well-known enough to have rumours about him, but he had heard the odd muttered comment when he had left a darkened corner of the racetrack, his confidant hurrying away in the opposite direction.

Momentarily thrown back into reverie, he let his arm slip from Darcy’s shoulder.

“Are you worried that I’m a deviant David?” he asked with a small smile.

David looked up sharply. He blushed furiously at letting his arm fall, managing to mutter a quick “N-no, I don’t know what you mean.”

“Because I wouldn’t blame you if you did,” Darcy continued serenely, “A bachelor who shows little interest in taking debutantes to dances despite being the heir to the Tribune, known for his enjoyment of the company of men and his fastidious nature.” He grimaced. “The gossip pages do like to deal in cliches.”

“I...I don’t read the gossip pages,” said David, hoping that his face wasn’t half as red as it felt.

“No, I suppose you don’t,” said Darcy cooly.

David forced himself to make eye contact with the other man. He couldn’t help but notice how clear and bright Darcy’s brown eyes were without the obstruction of his glasses. He swallowed deliberately and said, “I don’t read the gossip pages. And...and if I did, I wouldn’t really care all that much what they said.”

Darcy raised his eyebrows the barest fraction. Then, satisfied that David could meet his gaze, he permitted himself a small smile and a sigh of relief.

“An admirable attitude. And, if I may say so, you’re rather more subtle than Racetrack.”

David would have objected to the inflection of disdain on the former newsie’s name if he hadn’t been so curious to hear how Race had been obvious.

Darcy sighed. “Shortly after the strike Bill and I were still spending a good amount of time at the lodging house. We thought it would be helpful to better understand our future workforce.” He offered up his hands in a small supplicatory gesture at his past arrogance. “Bill and I were...rather close at the time-” He broke off at David’s widening eyes to quickly add, “Nothing of that sort of thing! But close enough to arouse Racetrack’s suspicions. When I was making my way home one night, he strong armed me into an alleyway and demanded to know if I was an ‘agfay’. He really does have such a love for Pig Latin.”

David opened his mouth to protest, “He never should have-”

Darcy held up a hand. “He did nothing more than that. I told him…” He took a deep breath. “I told him that I was and asked if he was going to do anything about it and he just left. I suppose I didn’t think he could do all that much to hurt me.”

Pacified, David elected to save the story of Race’s regular visits to Brooklyn for another occasion.

As David had been weighing up this decision, the reality of what he had done seemed to have hit Darcy. His face, already pale from years spent in offices, washed as white as his neatly pressed shirt and there was a clearly audible tremor in his voice when he said, “I quite understand if you wish to leave now, David. I would just ask that you be discrete, if that isn’t a problem for you.”

“What? Leave?” David asked, nonplussed, “Where else am I going to find someone to teach me to dance at this short notice?” When Darcy responded with just a raised eyebrow, he quickly clarified, “You don’t need to worry.” He tried for humour. That doesn’t fill me with terror half as much as dancing does.”

He didn’t feel like mentioning how lucky he felt that the gossip pages took no interest in a small time reporter. The few encounters he had managed to have with other men (in bars, or at the track) would have made interesting reading for New York at breakfast.

Darcy smirked and began to move his coffee table and armchairs towards the wall. David rushed to help, the two bearing the weight easily between them.

“We’ll start at the very beginning. I know Katherine prefers more exciting dances but, having seen Kelly’s attempt at the peabody, I’m sure that there will be quite a lot of keeping to the basics.”

“That sounds wonderful,” David said grimly, exaggerating his distaste to hear Darcy give a small laugh in reply.

“My father may not be the kindest man in New York, but he does have rather a good eye for Christmas presents.” Darcy crossed to the cabinet, where a phonograph stood in pride of place. He thumbed thoughtfully through his records, finally selecting one with a wry smile.

“Your friend would approve of this.” He set it to play, moving carefully so as not to catch it. From behind, David smiled fondly at his fussing.

Still bent over the phonograph, Darcy said, “It’s called ‘On the Road Called Santa Fe’.”

When David didn’t share his grin, he continued, “It’s not in waltz time, but if we use peabody rhythm, I’m sure you’ll be able to pick up the general idea.” David just looked back blankly.

The simple piano began to play. The sound was crackly but sure, the melody transcending the limitations of the machine on which it was played.

Darcy slipped his jacket off and hung it over the back of a chair, gesturing at David to do the same. He then moved to stand in front of him and David was forced to look into his eyes. He might have had a few extra inches of height, but this was very much the other man’s territory. His stance (which someone with a smidgen more experience of dance than David would have recognised as first position) exuded confidence.

“I suppose for the sake of your learning experience, I’ll be the woman,” he said decisively.

“Well, I don’t mind really. Whatever you’re more comfortable with,” said David with the sneaking suspicion that he was babbling.

Darcy sighed impatiently. “David, unless you plan on only dancing with other men at this wedding, it would perhaps be more helpful if you learned how to dance with a woman.

David jumped to attention. “Yes. Of course. Sorry.”

“That’s quite alright. Now, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my waist.”

David gulped. The pair of them shared long handshakes, they sat so close their knees touched when having their discussions, Darcy would sometimes lean against him when he was tired. Yet somehow it felt very different to actually place his hands deliberately on the other man like this.

Darcy tapped his foot impatiently. “Do you need me to point out where my waist is, Jacobs?”

David found it prudent not to mention that he knew exactly where Darcy’s waist was from all the times he’d reached for it in those dreams that sent him reeling in shame.

He reached out with tentative hands and submitted to the shorter man adjusting the positioning of his fingers fastidiously.

He could only imagine how they looked. Himself, stiff and awkward, whilst Darcy easily assumed the pose that decorated the posters of dance halls across the city.

“Now, as I step back, you are to step forward and hold it for one beat. Then you step with your right, and then bring your feet together.” When he rested his own hand on David’s shoulder, he felt the tension coiled there like a spring. “Relax,” he said in his best approximation of a soothing tone, “You’ll be fine.”

David began to move when prompted by Darcy gently squeezing his shoulder. He bent his head slightly and glued his eyes to Darcy’s feet, moving neatly in reverse, putting every last drop of concentration into not stepping on his toes.

There were two things that were not helping with his concentration.

One, his bowed head allowed Darcy’s carefully measured breathing to tickle the back of his neck.

Two, his fingers had been positioned so that he could clearly feel the warmth from Darcy’s skin where his green waistcoat had ridden up, leaving only his thin shirt to separate David’s palm and his skin.

The music continued, wistful and plaintive. David forced his concentration onto the refrain allowing himself to be lost in the hypnotic glide of their feet to the rhythm.

David credited the lack of mistakes he was making to the way that Darcy led far more forcefully than any female partner would. It was difficult to slip up when he was being guided so firmly.

His world became the pattern of his feet and the two spots of warmth where Darcy’s hands rested on his shoulders.

Outside, the sky began to fill with stars that were promptly hidden by the smog of the dockyards and factories.

When the music finally ended, leaving only a faint scratching noise to accompany their silence, David couldn’t bring himself to move away. It had begun to feel as though standing here, Darcy in his arms, was the most natural thing in the world.

He swallowed dryly and spoke without breaking apart. “Was that any good?”

Darcy wetted his lips before he replied. “Not too bad for a beginner, Jacobs.”

Neither of them seemed willingly to replace the finished record. “Won’t it get damaged if it’s left playing?” David asked.

“Let it. I never liked it that much,” Darcy replied in a tone that dared David to argue. The taller man simply nodded.

He gazed into Darcy’s eyes. He could not have been more conscious of closely together they were stood or how little they were breathing.

In the hallway, the cuckoo clock that Katherine had bought Darcy as a joke chimed the hour.

As if this had been some long-awaited signal, Darcy sighed and leaned in ever closer. He rested his forehead on David’s shoulder.

For so long, David had thought, hoped, prayed that if anything like this happened, it would be with Jack. He had very nearly managed to convince himself that all those adolescent daydreams and frustrated nights hadn’t been because he was attracted to men, but because Jack Kelly was the incandescent, infuriating exception.

Yet when he felt Darcy’s gentle hands move from his waist to his back to pull him closer, he was forced to reassess the carefully constructed denial of his teenage years.

This denial was shaken when Darcy met his gaze with blue eyes made searingly bright by a wild and desperate hope.

It crumbled entirely when Darcy slowed moved his own hand to rest over Darcy’s heart and the fierce beating he felt there made his own blood flow faster in his veins.

When he finally screwed his courage to the sticking place (Macbeth? He was getting more melodramatic about this than he’d planned) and pressed his lips briefly to Darcy’s, he had never been so glad to hear a whisper of ‘David’ and not ‘Davey’.

The thrill that rushed in his blood was suddenly stopped by an icy chill. There was no going back from this. For a brief, bleak moment, he saw all the dangers and opportunities for despair that this could cause.

He said softly, “Are you sure? This isn’t like Jack and Katherine you know. There’s your father, and the Tribune and...and there’s my father…”

He was interrupted by Darcy laying a slim finger against his lips. “As much as I love listening to you talk, David Jacobs, right now I would appreciate it if you would put that mouth of yours to another use.”

He very nearly rolled his eyes when this caused David to blush scarlet.

“I meant kiss me. I honestly believe that you never stopped being a street urchin,” he sighed, “And as for everything else, it can damn well wait.”

David smiled sheepishly and cupped Darcy’s face in his hands. He took a moment to appreciate how the lamplight played along Darcy’s high cheekbones before he claimed his lips once more.

Darcy’s lips were soft, unused to spending long hours inside in the winter’s chill. He tasted of the peppermint candies that he always kept in a bowl on his desk.

David kissed him more insistently, seeking entrance with his tongue and, when Darcy let out a breathless gasp, he felt that he could happily spend the rest of his life kissing Darcy Reid.

The shorter man’s hands were now clutching desperately at his back. David pulled back reluctantly, resting their foreheads together as he calmly stroked the back of Darcy’s neck.

“Have you ever…” he asked tentatively.

“No. Never. Not even at boarding school,” Darcy replied, still breathless.

David did what he could to hide his surprise. Fortunately, Darcy did not succumb to embarrassment. He squared his shoulders, saying, “I’m glad I didn’t. I’m glad you’re the first.”

How could anyone fail to be flattered by that? David mustered up all the experience he had amassed from his secretive encounters and began to pepper Darcy’s jaw and neck with kisses. “How long?” he managed to ask between kisses.

“Since the strike,” Darcy asked quietly, “From the moment I realised that you were the one with the actual plan. I heard them calling you the Walking Mouth and it annoyed me that you didn’t have a more dignified title.” He broke off into a surprised moan as David sucked at a spot just above his collarbone, hard.

David smiled at his handiwork, having left a mark that remind Darcy of this encounter that could just about be hidden by his shirt.

“For me, it was when you finally did the spit shake with Jack after the strike was settled.” He continued as Darcy laughed against him, “I mean, I noticed you were handsome from the moment you took that awful hat off, but that was when I really saw that you weren’t just some stuck up rich boy, helping the strike out for fun.”

This time Darcy initiated the kiss. His arms looped around David’s waist, pulling their bodies so close together that not even a single newsheet could pass between them.

When the need to breathe broke them apart again, David whispered, “It’s late, I should be going.”

Darcy took an abrupt step back, anxiety and excitement flitting across his features. “It is late...that is, what I mean is...I couldn’t let you try to make your way home by yourself. You’d have to cross some pretty rough neighbourhoods.”

“Such a gentleman.”

“Hardly. You need much more practice than one waltz to music with the wrong time signature if you don’t want to make a fool of yourself at this wedding.”

“Sounds good to me.” David pulled him back in by his tie for them to dance again.

 

On the actual day of the wedding, it appeared as though all of Darcy’s training had paid off. He waltzed competently with several of Katherine’s friends from school and then with Katherine herself, the pair of them smiling too much to try anything fancy.

In a convenient lull in the music, he took advantage of Darcy sitting down to discretely massage his already sore feet to sit down beside him, resting his arm on his shoulders as casually as he could.

When he turned around from whispering into his ear how good he had looked when he danced, he felt his blood turn to ice as he met the gaze of a surprised Katherine across the dance floor. Before he could escape, he and Darcy had been strong-armed into a quiet corner by one determined young reporter.

Darcy opened his mouth to explain only to have the breath forced out of him by a fierce hug. The two men blinked in identical surprise as she beamed.

David’s head cleared sufficiently to ask quietly, “Will Jack be ok with this?”

Katherine’s smile gained a dangerous edge as she replied, “He had better be, or this marriage might just end up being the length my father was hoping for.”

David leaned in to ask her to tell him, before leading Darcy back out to find another dance partner, a wild, shining joy burning in his breast.

When Jack finally approached him, having downed one more drink than Pulitzer would strictly approve of, to pull David into a rough hug, he expected the knife that had appeared when he first saw Jack kiss Katherine to be twisted once more.

To his amazement and relief, he felt only the warmth of Jack’s arms and the unpleasant tickling of his beer-soaked breath on his earlobe as the former strike leader whispered, “Ace told me what you told her to tell me to tell... You do what makes you happy Davey. And don’t let him boss you around.”

Unable to keep from grinning, David laughed loudly. “Like how you tried to? You do what makes you happy too, Jack. Just...don’t let Pulitzer catch you.” He pointed Jack’s head in the direction of the irate newspaper magnate.

He stumbled slightly but kept laughing as Jack nearly knocked him over in his clumsy escape attempt. He was steadied by a hand on his forearm.

He turned, smiling, to meet Darcy’s laughing eyes. “Kelly is going to have one sore head tomorrow.”

“I’m sure Katherine will take care of him. That girl could take care of the apocalypse.”

“Seeing as we have no Katherine to cure our potential headaches, perhaps we should make our way home now?” David easily detected the forced casual note in his voice.

He matched his tone. “That sounds like a good idea to me.”

They made their goodbyes and somehow managed to keep from touching one another until the door of Darcy’s apartment had closed behind them and they could dance together in private.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> ‘On the Road Called Santa Fe’ is a real song and, as far as I can tell ‘agfay’ was a genuine term for a gay man in the 1900s.


End file.
